


beloved...share your wounds

by wrennette



Series: sithnip [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: (as created / interpreted by your author), Asexual Relationship, Jedi Culture, Mando'a, Other, clone culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-09 13:05:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11669706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrennette/pseuds/wrennette
Summary: Following up on Obi-Wan Kenobi's trip to Kamino, Jedi Masters Xanatos du Crion and Jan Dooku begin their investigations on the clone army.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluedragoninamber](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedragoninamber/gifts).



> ....who has been a staunch supporter of this series and advocate for more Dooku. Not the interactions with Obi-Wan you've asked for, but plenty of sad grandpa Dooku nonetheless.
> 
> title from the third movement of [Henryk Goreki's Symphony No. 3, 'Symphony of Sorrowful Songs'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-mEWlGLkjIw) which is a fantastic piece of music that may or may not make you cry.
> 
> This takes place during [coruscating shadows](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10662093) but there's no definite timeline.
> 
> And finally, I've decided that Serenno is space Venice, but with less canals.

Xanatos gave his grandmaster a thin smile as he offered the older man his hand. Jan Dooku smiled back, just as reserved, but accepted the hand up from his place in the pilot’s seat of the Solar Sailor. With a deft move, Jan tucked Xanatos’ hand into the crook of his arm and led him from the vessel out into the unceasing rains of Kamino. 

It had been years since Jan was here last and he mentally prepared for the usual frustration of dealing with the Kaminoans. They were a placid, peaceful people who didn’t seem to understand the inherent immorality of producing sentient beings for a price, and Jan’s part in the creation of this army sat like a stone in the pit of his stomach. He would do all he could to ensure that he hadn’t facilitated the creation of a slave army.

“You worry overmuch Grandmaster,” Xanatos said coolly. “You may have assisted, but you are not culpable for the production of this army.” Jan dipped his head at the astute observance, but said nothing. There was nothing he could say. Despite Xanatos’ insistence, he felt culpable, damnably culpable. It was not a pleasant feeling, and it resisted his efforts to push it into the Force. He needed to accept his part in this mess; he had willingly Fallen, had sworn himself to the ancient enemy of the Order he so loved despite said Order’s refusal to adapt to changing times. 

The two Jedi Masters soon gained an audience with Lama Su, the Prime Minister of Kamino. Jan stiffened with tension as he was greeted by his Sith alias of Tyranus, the address an affront now that he’d begun reconciling with the Order. Staggered, he didn’t quite know how to respond. Only the practice of a lifetime in fraught situations kept him from imploding, or showing his shock on his face. Xanatos stepped forward into the breach, as diplomatic as ever. He brushed a slender hand down Jan’s spine, then addressed the Kaminoans.

“It would be more correct to address him now as Master Dooku,” Xanatos said primly. “I am his colleague, Master du Crion. We will be conducting a thorough audit of the progress that has been made, as Master Kenobi had pressing business elsewhere and could not complete his observations in the time he was here. We have two R3 units that will need access to the planetary ‘net.” 

Half dazed, Jan let himself be led to a set of spare if luxurious quarters. He noted distantly that his hands were trembling as they were enfolded in Xanatos’ slender hands. Blinking slowly, Jan looked up, vaguely registering the concern of Xanatos’ face, the warmth in his blue eyes. A shaky breath rushed from Jan’s mouth, and then he was pitching forward. Xanatos swept his Grandmaster into an embrace, sinking his fingers into Dooku’s soft silver hair as the older Jedi began to quietly weep. 

“Stars, if - if Obi-Wan hadn’t listened, if he hadn’t brought me home - Xanatos, what have I done?” Jan stammered, and Xanatos shifted them into the bed, belts, boots and all, and held on while Dooku cried himself out. “I can feel them from here,” Jan said huskily when his tears had subsided. “A thousand thousand bright lights, each of them unique. Stars Xanatos, what have I wrought?”

“We’ll find a way Grandmaster,” Xanatos murmured, stroking Jan’s thick silver hair. “They live now and breathe. Let us endeavour then to make their lives worth living. No man ought be born to die. Let us ensure that they are more than cannon fodder for the Republic.”

“Yes,” Jan breathed, and they dozed off there together. Jan woke again before long. Xanatos’ hand was tangled in the hair at the nape of Jan’s neck, his breath soft against Jan’s forehead. Jan flushed softly, then carefully extricated himself. It felt terribly nice to be held, and Jan wanted to luxuriate in it, but there was so much to be done. Rising he powered up the datasuite and began accessing the information that had been made available to them by the Kaminoans. As he went, he noted places where they would need further information, or where changes would need to be made. 

The education definitely had to be broadened. And the indoctrination process - that would need looking into. Loyal soldiers were all well and good, but they weren’t at war, and if Jan had his druthers, the war the Sith had orchestrated would be stopped before it ever started. He knew that was an optimistic goal, and perhaps unlikely. As he had told the Shadows and the Council, the Sith had been planning for decades. There were layers upon layers of contingency plans. But this time bomb - and Jan knew the clones had to be a trap somehow - he would make sure it was disarmed.

“What have you found so far, Grandmaster,” Xanatos asked when he rose, finding Dooku kneeling in front of the datasuite. 

“I’m reviewing the original order,” Jan said. “And you’re welcome to call me Jan my dear, we’re partners in this. I’ve been wondering - what ever happened to Sifo? We’d lost touch over the years, but he places the order for the clones, and then - what? How did Sidious come to know of the clones? He had access already when he sent me, the army was already in progress. Yes, I vetted Jango and offered him the contract, which was - an experience in itself. But how did Sidious know?”

“We’ll have to find out,” Xanatos agreed, kneeling at his grandmaster’s side. Jan. It would take some getting used to. “So Master Dyas placed the order, then you were sent with details?”

“Yes, although there may have been other communications in the interim. I doubt it though,” Jan said thoughtfully. “I got the impression Sidious wanted to have as little contact with this project as possible, so he could truthfully say he knew nothing about a clone army.” Xanatos nodded. It made sense. 

“We’ll need to track the funding,” Xanatos said thoughtfully, linking his datapad into the ‘net and beginning his own research. “I can follow that if you prefer tracking Master Dyas.”

“That would be wise,” Jan agreed, and sent a request to Jocasta back at the Temple. If there was anyone who knew what their old crechemate was up to, it would be Jo.

“Alright,” Xanatos declared a few hours later. “Meal time, and we can talk basics.” Jan looked up from his datapad, blinking owlishly behind the silver-wire framed eyeglasses he’d put on while reading. Xanatos’ heart lurched - oh. _Oh_. He had it so bad. Xanatos smiled fondly, reaching out almost without thought to brush his fingers through Dooku - Jan’s - longish white beard and tuck a stray hair behind his ear. “I’ll send for a meal,” Xanatos said softly, rising. “I doubt the menu is terribly varied, but do you have preferences?”

“I imagine the choices are fish, fish, or fish, any of which I would be fine with,” Jan said with a small smile. “Although if there is a vegetarian option I would prefer that.”

“Noted,” Xanatos said, and rose to go find a Kaminoan. “You’d think they’d have come by themselves to make sure we aren’t looking into their trade secrets or anything.”

“From my limited dealings with them in the past, they don’t have a terribly high opinion of human intellect,” Jan said, his tone rich and wry. 

“Yes, I’d rather come to that conclusion,” Xanatos agreed just as wryly, and set off. He returned about an hour later looking slightly annoyed. “A droid will arrive shortly with meals from the soldiers mess,” he said shortly. “They don’t have any other human compatible food. Frankly I don’t know what they eat that couldn’t pass through a human digestive system, we’re a fairly hardy species.”

“Well, at least we’ll see what the men are fed?” Jan said, and Xanatos huffed, then tapped at his astromech until it began playing a soft, lulling Telosian tune. “This is a lovely piece,” Jan said, offering an easy conversational topic, and Xanatos smiled, settling. 

“Thank you,” Xanatos said. “It’s a favorite of mine, one of the few happy memories I have of Telos. I was still very young when my mother died, but I remember her, or perhaps a woman she trusted with my care, humming this to me before I was brought to the Temple.”

“I don’t remember life before the Temple,” Jan mused. “There were so many heirs ahead of me, giving me to the Jedi must have seemed like a terribly clever idea, a way to be rid of an extraneous claimant to the title.”

“Siblings?” Xanatos asked. He’d never questioned the older man about the Serennoan succession, but their aristocratic birth was something they had in common.

“Three older brothers and a younger sister,” Dooku said. “My nephew is the only immediate family I have left, and my heir. Our branch was the seventh and last before the infighting decimated House Dooku, not that the other Great Houses are in much better shape. It is entirely likely that I only survived to adulthood because I was safely out of the way at the Temple - out of sight and out of mind.”

“I’m afraid I know very little about Serenno,” Xanatos admitted, and Jan smiled, seeing the ploy but happy to oblige. 

“Come, I will tell you of _La Serennissima_ ,” Jan said, gesturing for Xanatos to come closer. Xanatos obliged, and was soon laid with his head in Jan’s lap, Jan’s fingers gently combing through his long black hair as he told stories of the beautiful world of Serenno. He spoke of their peaceful blue lagoons and sweeping fertile plains, jagged mountains and verdant forests. The capital, Carannia, was a spaceport of renown throughout the Outer Rim for its open air markets, and was home to the six Great Houses of Serenno, who formed the ruling council with the Count at their head. His nephew and Heir, Adan, lived on Alderaan, away from the lethal infighting between the houses. “He is friends with Viceroy Organa,” Jan said with a quiet, slightly bemused pride. 

“Then his politics must be quite different from your own,” Xanatos observed, looking up at Jan, who shook his head. 

“Organa would be loathe to admit it, but our politics are probably quite similar. I simply lost faith in the system, while he throws himself against the gears of government from within,” Jan argued. “We both believe that the Republic is good, is necessary. But he believes the current iteration of the Republic can be fixed without burning it down first, which I suppose is where I - lapsed.”

“The system is flawed,” Xanatos agreed. “That we certainly agree on.” He looked back up. “Obi-Wan is friends with Organa you know,” he said leadingly. “I don’t know how much contact you have with Adan, but if you’re abdicating, and it’s likely you’ll have to for full reconciliation to the Order, your nephew should have some warning before he’s dumped back into the Great Game.” Jan sighed, and nodded, and thankfully their food arrived soon after, so he could come up with a more innocuous conversational topic. He barely knew his nephew in truth, and that was yet another bridge he would have to mend.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jan and Xan meet the clones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit of Mando'a in here, translations in endnotes, and hopefully I don't forget anything.

Even before they saw the Jedi, whispers raced through the ranks of the clone troopers. Jedi had come again to Kamino. Only a few of their number had seen the brown robed Master who came before and left so quickly, but all those who had, had burned his image behind their eyes, and spoken of him at length. Kenobi, they had learned his name was. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi, and one of the warrior-Guardians of the Jedi Order, a skilled diplomat with a streak of rebellion running in him that led him to rehabilitate the ancient enemies of the Jedi, Sith and Darksiders, instead of killing them out of hand. But it did not make him weak, they knew. The files they had - recovered - said he was the first Jedi since the Ruusan Reformation to slay a Sith in battle, a Sith that had killed his Master - his _buir_. Kenobi was a Jedi, the _vode_ agreed, fit to lead them to war.

Three days passed before there was a general assembly, and all the vode were packed into the mess, from shinies just out of their tubes to Nulls who had been training under the _Cuy’val Dar_ for a decade. The head longneck walked out first, but they were followed by a pair of Jedi; they could be nothing else in those heavy black robes. Two human Jedi, both male, both tall, although one was much older than the other judging by the silver of his hair.

“ _Su cuy’gar_ ,” the black haired Jedi greeted in Mando’a with a pronounced Coruscanti accent, and the vode howled in affirmation. On the dias, Xanatos fought not to grin. He might not be as proficient in Mando’a as Obi-Wan, but he’d clearly made the right decision to utilize some of the little he did know. 

“I am Jedi Master Xanatos du Crion. With me is my colleague Master Jan Dooku. Some of you may have recently seen my Lineage-brother Master Obi-Wan Kenobi here on Kamino. He has entrusted us with ascertaining your wellbeing and progress, which we will report back to the Jedi High Council on Coruscant. If there is _any_ part of your care or training you would like to comment on, please know that myself and Master Dooku are always available to you, although of course we may not be in the best of moods if you wake us during our rest hours or approach while we are eating.” A wave of stifled laughter swept through the audience, and Xanatos smiled slightly.

The troopers were soon dismissed to their various training regiments, the little ones going to the flash-training halls, the older ones to gymnasiums and blaster ranges and arenas to complete combat exercises. The Jedi walked through quietly, Master du Crion’s slender hand resting on Master Dooku’s arm, their low voices conversing softly. They observed flash training and survival training, combat training and language lessons that first morning. Their placid faces gave away little, leaving the vode to guess at what they thought.

At mid-meal, the troopers whose regiments were in the mess when the Jedi came in accorded they certainly were lucky sons of Fett, and watched the Jedi closely. There was no attempt at subterfuge, no pretense that they weren’t staring. They watched the Jedi enter, watched the younger pat his elder’s hand, then gather two trays and sniff rather disdainfully at the nutritional gruel before they sat and began to eat.

“I think a chef should be in the first batch of requisitions,” Xanatos murmured as he dripped the thick mush off his spoon. “I understand that a lot of people have to eat, but there’s no excuse for this. Prisoners eat better slop.” Jan chuckled softly, the pain in his heart sharpening, then easing. _What sort of life had he condemned these men to?_ he had been wondering all morning. _What sort of existence would they have?_ A chef was a small thing, but it _would_ improve their quality of life. “I can dress it up as cultural education,” Xanatos went on thoughtfully. “We’ll need to cover music and dance and such as well. It’s too bad the Order rarely produces an Artisan,” he said thoughtfully.

“And are you not a trained vocalist?” Jan asked. “You forget I have heard you sing.” Xanatos flushed slightly at that. 

“I would be glad to see to as much or as little of their education as I am able,” Xanatos said, for he was already rather awed by the fierce men who looked up at him with such blatant admiration. “But I would not have them think the Jedi the absolute authority on facts. They must learn to question us, to determine their own values and trust their own judgment. Already they have developed their own culture, their own society. I would not have that marred by our attempts to help.”

“You have grown so wise,” Jan murmured, treating Xanatos to a soft, fond look. Xanatos flushed, reaching out to squeeze Jan’s hand. 

“I have had excellent examples,” Xanatos returned, and Jan scoffed. “It is true,” Xanatos insisted. “It was not your wisdom that failed you.”

“Perhaps. I hope though that you will learn from my failure.”

“It was not a failure either,” Xanatos said firmly. “A lapse of judgement perhaps. Master of my Master, you who are so very dear to me - how could I judge you more harshly than I judge myself? We have Fallen, but we have Risen as well. It is a long process, but I will see you Reconciled. That is not a failure. It is acknowledgment of our difficulties perhaps, but not failure. Are our paths not proof that we are masters of our fates? And that we have chosen the narrow way, beset with temptation? That we have slipped, yes, but that we have regained our feet and pressed on?”

“Oh, dear heart,” Jan murmured, eyes glistening with tears. Knowing his Grandmaster would likely never forgive him if he made the man cry in public, Xanatos reached out and squeezed Jan’s hand.

“Come, I should like to meditate with you, Master of my Master,” Xanatos said gently. “And then we will show these men what a proper fight looks like.” Jan smiled wetly, and they soon found a quiet room in which to meditate together, their minds brushing and linking tentatively as they reached across the pairbond they’d formed in anticipation of their mission. Jan slowly began releasing his guilt into the Force, facing and acknowledging it, but releasing it so that he could work unhampered by it to better the lives of these men. Maybe he wasn’t culpable, but he would be responsible, and he would ensure that the ‘troopers had the best life he could arrange for them. 

“You are too good to me,” Jan said quietly when they surfaced, and Xanatos gave him a supremely unimpressed look. Jan laughed softly at that, reaching out to cup Xanatos’ cheek, the pad of his thumb tenderly rubbing at the single blemish there, the dull, silvered scar left by Crion’s ring. Xanatos couldn’t help but lean into the caress, eyelids falling to half mast. 

“I am no better than I choose to be,” Xanatos countered, turning into Jan’s hand and kissing his palm. Jan flushed, then swallowed thickly, surprised and more than a little touched by Xanatos’ clear affection. Both of them had reputations as cool and aloof men, but Jan had seen the care and affection with which Xanatos treated his trusted Lineage brother and his Padawan. Was this then an extension of that, Jan wondered. Was this simply because they were members of the same Lineage? He didn’t quite dare hope it meant more.

From beneath his lashes, Xanatos caught Jan blushing, and wondered. Was it possible? Was there hope? He was well aware of his physical beauty, but admirers of his worldly attributes had never impressed Xanatos. And while aesthetically he found Jan Dooku quite pleasing, it was the older Jedi’s wisdom and intellect and varied experiences that drew Xanatos to him. 

Beauty faded in time, although he doubted Jan would ever be an ugly man. But wit and curiosity, sagacity and prudence, those could be the cornerstones of a relationship that might last a lifetime, the sort of relationship that Xanatos had long craved, even outside his bonds with his Padawan or Lineage-brothers. Xanatos turned his head slightly, trapping Jan’s hand and gently kissing his palm again, then reaching up to take Jan’s hand in both of his. Jan flushed gently. 

“I would be your partner for longer than this mission,” Xanatos said rather bluntly, gathering his courage and deciding now was the time to speak, and it was best to speak plainly and ensure there were no misunderstandings. 

“I’m not inclined to sexual relationships,” Jan said carefully. It was clear he expected rejection, perhaps ridicule. Xanatos merely smiled, a broad, relieved smile unlike any Jan had seen on him before. 

“Nor am I,” Xanatos said, pressing another kiss to Jan’s hand. “I tried a few times, but I have no interest in that aspect of a partnership. I want someone I can confide in, and yes, kiss and hold hands, maybe even share a bed, but I have no interest in sex.” The tension bled from Jan, and he reached up, pulling Xanatos into a rough embrace. Xanatos hugged him back, not remarking on the silent shudders that wracked Jan’s frame. 

“Oh darling, darling,” Jan murmured, brushing light, breathy kisses against Xanatos’ cheeks and nose and eyelids. 

“Yes, yours,” Xanatos returned, opening himself up, mingling their Force signatures together more deeply than they had during their joined meditation. Jan let out a soft sob, thinning his own shields and pouring himself into their bond. They brushed and touched mentally, savouring the intimacy of such metaphysical closeness. This, for them, was better than any sex either had ever let himself be talked into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I source all my Mando'a via mandoa.org
> 
> buir = parent  
> vode = siblings (singular vod)  
> Cuy'val Dar = "Those who no longer exist" the bounty hunters who served as trainers for the clone troopers on Kamino  
> Su cuy'gar = a greeting, lit. "you're still alive"


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jedi, vode. Vode, Jedi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disregards canon in that in this ‘verse Dooku wasn’t the one to kill Sifo Dyas, as I had misremembered that fact and I’m trying to build a better Dooku.
> 
> Mando'a translations in end notes.
> 
> I'm moving this weekend so I don't know when I'll be able to update the main arc. This is the last installment of this side story.

The ‘troopers sat silent, practically holding their breath as the two Jedi sparred. Neither bore a weapon, running the Makashi forms open handed and at high speed. Though the vode couldn’t feel the Force, they could see and understand that it was being used. The motions were too perfectly in sync for anything else. It was almost a dance in truth, an elegant interplay between the two black clad men. On an unspoken signal, the Jedi stilled, practically embracing. If they had been armed, the lightsabers would have been locked between them.

“Solah,” Xanatos and Jan said in unison, and then, maintaining their synchronicity, they stepped back once, twice, then bowed deeply to one another. 

“Well fought, Master of my Master,” Xanatos said politely. “It is not often I can bring you to a draw.”

“You are improving dear one, which is no surprise at all,” Jan said, the slightest hint of affection in his low voice. “It pleases me indeed that you have chosen to learn my form.”

“As it pleases me to learn from you, Master of my Master,” Xanatos said with a slight smile and a respectful dip of the head. Dooku took two long strides forward and enfolded Xanatos in his arms, resting their foreheads together for a moment. The vode exchanged rapid looks of surprise; this was an embrace they knew, the embrace of one’s most treasured person. These Jedi - the vode knew already they had been made for Jedi, but this was surely proof that the Jedi were just as much theirs as they were the Jedi.

The exhibitions duels came to be the favorite part of the day for the ‘troopers. Every afternoon Masters Dooku and du Crion would spar. Mostly they fought in the elegant back and forth they called Makashi, but sometimes Dooku would call out the name of some other fighting form, and they would shift on the fly. The first time the vode saw Ataru, they fell even more in love. 

“Well, I had heard there were _jetiise_ here,” Jango Fett said one afternoon, entering the gymnasium. The tension in the makeshift salle ratcheted up by several orders of magnitude. Jango was honoured by the vode for his part in their creation. He was already enshrined in their insular world, _maan’alor_ , the first, the original. But Fett did not speak to them as the Jedi did. Fett did not watch them fight and then ask how they would fight alongside one another. Fett did not sit at their sides and listen as they sang _Vode An_ , did not ask them what they wished to learn about, what they wanted to accomplish with their lives. 

“Mand’alor,” Dooku greeted coolly, gently pushing Xanatos slightly behind himself and letting his thumb rest over the activation switch on the ‘saber in his hand. 

“No,” Jango said sharply. “You do not get to call me that Jetii. No one may call me that, because you massacred us at Galidraan. You took faulty info and you swallowed it without a question. You killed three hundred _Haat Mando’ade_ that day. Three hundred, and sold me into slavery. My people are _dead_ jetii. They are gone, and their blood is on your hands.”

“And the Jedi you killed at Galidraan? The hundreds of Mandalorians you killed before that?” Dooku said evenly. “I have never claimed my hands were clean. Why do you think I am here? Because I enjoy the weather? No Mand’alor. I will accord you the same respect I always have: that of a man who would very much like to kill me.”

Jango growled at that, and showed his fiery temper. Despite being unarmed and unarmoured, he threw himself bodily at Dooku. Jan caught Fett and easily subdued him, holding Fett pinned against his chest until the fight went out of him. Jango jerked away when he was released, a sour expression on his face, and his eyes red with unshed tears. Jan hesitated a moment, then settled his lightsaber back at his belt and took a knee. 

“ _Ni ceta, Mand’alor_ ,” Jan intoned formally, bowing his head. Jango stared, utterly shocked by the sincere contrition of the Jedi before him. “A great wrong was done to your people. A wrong that could have been prevented. Before you seek vengeance though, consider who called for Jedi intervention. Who told us the situation on the ground. A wrong was done to the True Mandalorians at Galidraan, a wrong which no apology can ameliorate. But consider also that a wrong was committed against the Jedi that day. They are perhaps not comparable in your mind, the loss of your clan against the loss of honour that the Jedi suffered. But the stain of having been at Galidraan does not wash from a Jedi’s soul.”

“I hear your words, but it will take a long time for them to reach my heart,” Jango said. “I will not kill you Jetii. Not today at least.” Jan nodded, and rose. Jango stalked off to work out his anger in one of the shooting galleries. That night, the confrontation was the talk of the mess hall, growing more elaborate with every retelling. In some versions, Jango burst in wearing full _beskar’gam_ and just started shooting, and Master Dooku protected himself with his lightsaber. In other tellings, they had a drawn out fist fight leaving both men bloodied and bruised. 

When he heard the variations on the tale, Jan just smiled sadly. Galidraan had been a revelation for him, and not of the pleasant sort. He had already begun questioning tenets of the Code before then, but after Galidraan, it was impossible for him to place his faith in either Code or Council. He had taken mission after mission to the Outer Rim, staying away from the Temple as long as he could, ashamed to look his fellow Jedi in the face when he had been party to such a massacre. Left alone with his doubts and self-loathing, he had been easy prey for Sidious. There would be no absolution for Galidraan, Jan knew, nor for the wrongs he had perpetrated as apprentice to the Sith Lord. But he could alleviate some of the suffering he had caused, could try to right some of his former Master’s wrongs. Here, on Kamino, it seemed possible.

Their first report back to the Council included a great number of requests. Better food. Educators and educational materials. Jedi Healers. Some were readily approved - detachments from the EduCorps and MedCorps would be on their way shortly. Some others - those would take longer. But Jan intended to ensure that these men were not the ones who suffered for his arrogance. They had done nothing to deserve that. So he would find out all he could about their creation, and endeavour to protect them from the machinations of the Sith - and of the Jedi, if it came to that. 

Jan and Xanatos came and went from Kamino, not trusting their findings to transmissions, even with heavy encryption. Every report on the clone troopers was delivered in person to the Council. It ate up time they could ill afford, but it also allowed them to argue for the supplies and support services that were needed on Kamino. To raise the ‘troopers as unquestioning followers was too like the instructions of the Sith, and so the EduCorps set up an outpost as Jan had requested, which was soon followed by a MedCorps post to ensure that the troopers were healthy.

Once Asajj found her way to Coruscant, she joined them on their trips to Kamino, and delighted in trouncing the ‘troopers in hand to hand. They seemed just as enthusiastic about the exercises though, happily being lifted and tossed with the Force for the chance to run against her twinned blades. She soon had a dedicated platoon of 36 ‘troopers who had adapted to her fighting style and developed their own techniques to support her. She demanded they learn to pilot as well, and led them through spiraling maneuvers through the clouds over Tipoca City.

Xanatos, who had oft depended on his small squad of Antarian Rangers, soon invited them to come stay as well. They soon took on a platoon of their own, training the ‘troopers to support Xanatos’ fighting style. Not to be outdone, another platoon designated themselves for Jan’s disposal. All three platoons agitated (in the end successfully) for their plasteel armour to be recast in a similar alloy that gleamed glossy black rather than shiny white, in keeping with the darker uniforms their Jedi preferred. Eventually, there were enough self selected ‘troopers in black armour to make up a full battalion of 660 clones with full complement of officers. And then - then came the day they were all called in for general assembly again. Master Dooku stood front and center on the dias, Master du Crion at one shoulder, Padawan Ventress at the other, and not a single longneck in sight.

“Gentlemen,” Dooku addressed them, as he always addressed them when they were in groups. They shuffled a bit, sitting taller in their seats. When addressed so, it was difficult not to think of themselves as such. “You have learned by now that your creation was at the behest of a Jedi Master, Sifo Dyas. He was a great friend of mine, and I am deeply saddened today to report that the Jedi have found his body. Shortly before he undertook the procurement of this army, Master Dyas was removed from the Jedi High Council. Shortly after, he disappeared from the Temple.” He paused, looking over the men. Loss still ached in his chest. He had hoped - it had been years, but still he had hoped that somehow Sifo had managed to survive.

“Sifo Dyas died believing that you would help turn back the Darkness he saw rotting out the center of the Republic. Jedi Shadows have been dispatched to investigate his death more fully, in hopes that doing so will help the Order expose the Sith at the heart of that Darkness,” Dooku told them. He took a deep breath, and he could feel Xanato’s strength bolstering him, supporting him. He sent a wave of affection and gratitude along their bond, honoured by the trust Xanatos had in him. 

“This Sith is called Sidious. I once called him Master, and it was under his orders I first came to Kamino, many years ago. I have since seen the destruction he would wreak, and he would use myself and you to bring about the end of the Republic as we know it. I have reaffirmed myself to the tenets of the Jedi Code, and I say this to you now: I will seek out and destroy every corruption this Sith has wrought, and ensure that you live full lives out from beneath his shadow.”

The vode howled their affirmation, stamping their feet and pounding the tables with closed fists. Jan flushed slightly at the approbation, unused to such demonstrations. It was then, although Jan didn’t know it, that he became _ba’buir_ , grandfather to the vode. Rather to Jan’s surprise, Jango cut through the crowd and boosted himself up on the dais. The vode quieted, watching their progenitor carefully. Tensions still ran high between Jango and the Jedi, but they had maintained a truce.

“Mando’ade,” Jango called in that booming parade ground cadence, and the vode practically came to attention. While he had trained ARC ‘troopers himself, and taught them about Mando culture, he had never explicitly stated that Mando culture was _their_ culture despite that they all learned Mando’a shortly after they were decanted. “I may not like jetiise, but dar’jetiise are far worse. I am calling Great Hunt. The bounty: Sith.” If Dooku's pronouncement had been received with enthusiasm, Jango's magnified that a thousandfold. They were sons of Mandalore, and they had a purpose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jetiise = Jedi (plural)  
> maan'alor = first, original  
> Mand'alor = Leader (of all Mando'ade)  
> Haat Mando'ade = True Mandalorians (this is my best approximation of Jango's clan's name in Mando'a)  
> Ni ceta = Sorry (lit. "I kneel"), a formal apology, rare  
> beskar'gam = armour (lit. "iron skin")  
> ba'buir = grandparent  
> dar'jetiise = Sith (plural)

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to come say hey on tumblr, i'm @wrennette there too

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [All Through the Night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11804436) by [bluedragoninamber](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedragoninamber/pseuds/bluedragoninamber)




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